


in the truly gruesome do we trust

by sidnihoudini



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mind Palace, Murder Husbands, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:39:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5155673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidnihoudini/pseuds/sidnihoudini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal and Will have murder husbands mind palace sex, and Alana watches obsessively.</p><p>A slow, sneaky grin slides its way across Will’s face as he looks up at Hannibal and teases, “You <i>enjoy</i> being watched.”</p><p>“Does a lion eat its prey while it is still alive?” Hannibal asks rhetorically, an amused quirk to his lips.  He drags his elbows against the silk sheets, letting himself rest his weight on them so he can comfortably brush his fingers through Will’s curls.  After a pause, he drops his head, and presses his open mouth to Will’s.  He pulls back a fraction, and breathes, “Yes.”</p><p>Fully smiling now, sharp and uncontrolled, Will arches up against Hannibal’s body, and asks, “Does that make me the lion, or the prey?”</p><p>“You are simply part of the pride,” Hannibal murmurs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the truly gruesome do we trust

**Author's Note:**

> This story began when I read [bu0nanotte's](http://bu0nanotte.tumblr.com) [tumblr post](http://bu0nanotte.tumblr.com/post/132501748479).
> 
> It's basically just an excuse for me to write Alana obsessing over Hannibal and Will, and some really explicit murder husbands mild palace sex.

It’s a bad idea.

“How can you pretend to be so naive?” Margot whispers into the darkness of their bedroom, as she holds their brand new daughter in her arms. From the bed, Alana watches her wife pace back and forth in front of the wooden crib. “Am I the only one who remembers that these men are sociopaths, driven only by their obsession for one another? Do you remember how _dangerous_ they are?”

Alana smoothes the soft, freshly washed bed linens back over her legs, and sighs.

“Of course I remember how dangerous they are,” She murmurs, voice as gentle as she can make it. Alana hopes that when their children are older, neither will remember any of this. The idea of her son even knowing Hannibal by name makes her skin crawl. “How could I possibly forget that? I let them out the first time, it’s my responsibility to keep them in.”

Margot stares at her over the soft, round curve of their daughter’s head. There are tears in her eyes.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” She whispers, unable to meet Alana’s gaze.

Secretly, Alana hopes so, too.

~

Alana is many things.

She is a mother, above all else. A wife, a daughter, and a good friend to very few.

Although she doesn’t have much room left for trust, the little that remains is carefully doled out to those who are closest to her. She no longer seeks new connection, whether personal or professional.

Against what Alana sometimes thinks is her better judgement, she is still a registered psychiatrist, though no longer in the field of standard practice. Some days she longs for the simplicity that came along with recovering drug addicts and the children of divorced parents. She tried to help Molly Graham through her first few weeks alone, but that had quickly gone sideways, and Alana found herself needing to step back.

Would Alana consider herself a fool, among all of the titles she possesses? A fool for becoming entangled like this again, right through the mouth and deep into the belly of the beast himself? How is she now - more than any other time in her life - expected to disengage herself, even if she wanted to?

They would not let her go if she tried to leave. She knows this. Sometimes, she thinks Margot knows it, too.

The two men are in looming glass cages, now, side by side. It had been different, when they were first caught. Six months ago, following a lengthy extradition process from Mexico, the two had been thrown into separate maximum security cells on opposite sides of the building.

And those in charge, Alana muses, really should have known better.

Before Alana was brought into the case, there were three doors separating the men from one another. She spent many sleepless nights reading the reports, and she knows: three doors, with two guards at each, and more on their feet throughout the winding corridors.

It took seven days for the two of them to mentally break down every guard that separated them, and physically terrorize the few who dared come close to their cages. One guard committed suicide. The two men bit off fingers and faces, and then broke necks and arms after the protective face masks were strapped around their heads.

For two days, the ward was a vicious, uncontrolled war zone, and only because they missed one another.

Alana was called in out of desperation. She knew both of their cases well, and understood the mechanics behind what made each of them tick. She accepted without hesitation.

Out of witness protection and back into the frying pan, she’d tried to joke. Margot hadn’t found it funny.

Hannibal’s only request upon their first face to face meeting was that he and Will be moved closer together. He did not ask for books, music, a pencil and paper, or shoes; his request was simple, and had nothing to do with dignity. It was simply the raw demand of someone deeply in love.

And it was different, almost alarming, for Alana to first see Hannibal in that way. Although she had not been privy to the slow transformation that clearly occurred over the many days he’d spent in Will’s company, she was witness to what that time spent together churned out. Hannibal’s face was now that of someone who had been allowed to love without limitation for months; someone who had that privilege suddenly and cruelly taken away.

It entertained her, to see him that way, without his usual brand of detachment. She had been shown the monster’s teeth, instead.

She doesn’t know why she expected Will to be any different. She guesses now that a small part of her wished she could still save him. It had been a thought licking at the very back of her brain right up until the moment she walked in front of Will’s cage.

“You will regret this, Alana,” He said, standing with his back turned to her. “More than you already do.”

He was a man contained, alone in that solitary cage. More than anything else, the calm, detached tone of his voice was what made the short hairs at the nape of her neck stand up on end. There was no warmth left there. Suddenly the man standing on his front stoop in his too tight underwear was a thousand lifetimes away.

 _A man with nothing left to lose,_ someone whispered to her.

Simply put, Will scared her. So much so that for a short time afterwards, the decisions she made were propelled by fear. Even now, she can’t be sure that she made the right decision when she chose to move their cells. What she does know is that the institute would have been in for a continuous parade of guts and glory should she not have acquiesced to their demands.

Alana did not argue with them, and bargaining was not on the table. She simply - quietly - moved them into their own corridor, side by side, so they could see one another but not touch.

Some small part of her enjoyed the idea that they would be unable to kiss or stroke or hug; the madness that would surely begin to spiral once Hannibal drove himself mad with the lack of intimacy. Secretly, she wanted to see Hannibal unravel.

She wanted to see Hannibal break open, like he had done to so many people before her.

~

They’re given their own corridor in the maximum security wing, out of necessity more than anything else.

“Quarantine,” Alana calls it during the security brief meeting, only half joking. Separating the two of them from the masses is the most effective way to keep media reporters and Hannibal the Cannibal fans out, and Hannibal and Will in.

She uses a large portion of their annual budget installing security cameras at every angle, and finds herself not having to justify the expense to her superiors. At the beginning of every shift change, the guards assigned to Hannibal and Will’s quarters are verbally reminded not to speak, or listen to the incarcerated. As a last ditch effort, Alana gives each guard their own set of earplugs, and instructs them to stand with their backs facing the cages.

It sounds crazy in theory - something Alana is incredibly aware of after her third argument with a security guard - but it keeps Hannibal and Will’s fingers out of the last vestiges of humanity that surround them. Alana understands that it can’t be easy to stand blind with your back exposed to two known cannibals, but she knows Hannibal and Will cannot break out without being given the chance to verbally manipulate the very few who hold the keys.

She worries that one of the new guards is leaking information; Freddie Lounds hasn’t been seen on the property, but somehow, only one day after Alana submitted her request for cell reassignment, Tattle Crime’s newest post is titled _Murder Husbands’ Solitary Renovations: Your Tax Dollars at Work?_ Freddie continues to sell merchandise at an appalling rate (and markup) on her website.

Alana speaks with a technical security engineer, and ensures that the video camera streams are encrypted. The last thing she wants is for Freddie to get her fingers on the footage, and release it to the public. She can only imagine what kind of tailspin that would cause.

All of these things aside, more than anything else Alana cannot believe how different Will’s face looks each time she stares into the newly set up television monitor in her office. He is empty, gruesome, and drawn.

She wonders what he looked like while he and Hannibal were living in Mexico. From reading the reports, her understanding was that they’d been many places, but Mexico was one of the last they’d visited. In fact, it was the very last. Like flies on sticky paper, they’d quickly become trapped. Alana wonders if the cheap pharmaceuticals and afternoons spent bathing in the sun were worth it.

When she lets her mind wander, she wonders how long she has until they break out again.

It becomes her obsession very quickly. Though she spends some of her time writing reports on what she already knows about their shared history, she spends the majority of her time watching them through the mounted cameras.

They speak with each other often. Even though she can’t hear what they’re saying through the basic security camera set up, she can see when the familiar facial expressions begin to emerge. It’s strange, seeing the emotion resurface behind miles and miles of skin suit when they believe they are alone.

 _Skin suits_. Alana shivers at the term, but knows it’s the most appropriate way to describe the way they are now.

When they talk, they sink into their own world, laying on their mattresses quiet and alone. Neither of them are allowed socks, or shoes, or even glasses. Alana hopes that Will’s eyesight does not get worse than it is now; she would not want to be on the receiving end of Hannibal’s wrath should he one day realize that they are withholding an entire sense from Will.

For the most part, however, they talk, and she watches. Sometimes they stand, face to face and smiling at one another through the reflective glass. Sometimes Hannibal sits quietly as Will paces the perimeter of his cage, back and forth and back again. It makes her dizzy. Mostly they just lay on their beds, mirroring one another's pose.

At first Alana doesn’t understand what they’re doing, when they lay so still. The more she watches the monitor, the less sense it makes to her. She wonders if they’re over medicated, and if that’s the reason they’re both so content to lay with their eyes closed and their hands rested softly over the curve of their lower bellies.

Weeks later, it becomes apparent what they’re doing. It takes _weeks_. She doesn’t know why it took her so long to realize.

She makes another call, and has audio wired into the existing camera set up.

That, Margot says later, is when Alana’s life really begins to unravel.

~

Alone in their cells, Will lets out a quiet breath, and touches his lower abdomen through the prison onesie.

He’s not happy about having to wait until right before lights out to receive a fresh change of clothes. His come will dry and become uncomfortably tight on his skin by then, despite Hannibal’s suggestions to simply eat it in the same way he does to his. Maybe Will is just old fashioned, but it’s just not the same when they’re not laying sticky and sated on top of one another.

Despite the fact that Hannibal tries to convince him otherwise, eating cool, stringy come off of his own stomach is not the same as, say, laving his tongue up and down the flat muscles of Hannibal’s belly, and cleaning up what is rightfully his.

“She’s watching us, you know,” He murmurs to Hannibal, eyes still closed. His fingers curl against the fabric a little more.

In his mind, they are back at Hannibal’s house in Baltimore. Besides Wolf Trap, it’s the closest to having a home that Will has ever been. In Hannibal’s big bed, he blinks against the late golden sunlight streaming through the tall windows, and brushes his fingers through Hannibal’s damp hair.

“I know,” Hannibal replies, easily. His tone is steady. In bed, he runs the backs of his fingers against Will’s cheeks over and over, gaze trained on Will’s face fondly.

Will makes a low noise in the back of his throat, and leans up from the pillow to press their mouths together.

It’s a soft kiss, gentle between them, and then he asks, “Are you going to let her?”

“Mmm. Our dear Alana will drive herself insane,” Hannibal murmurs, dropping his chin so he can press his lips against the smooth, round curve of Will’s forehead. He presses another kiss between Will’s eyebrows, and then bites at his cheek and adds, “There is nothing to be done, my darling. We will simply wait.”

A slow, sneaky grin slides its way across Will’s face as he looks up at Hannibal and teases, “You _enjoy_ being watched.”

“Does a lion eat its prey while it is still alive?” Hannibal asks rhetorically, an amused quirk to his lips. He drags his elbows against the silk sheets, letting himself rest his weight on them so he can comfortably brush his fingers through Will’s curls. After a pause, he drops his head, and presses his open mouth to Will’s. He pulls back a fraction, and breathes, “Yes.”

Fully smiling now, sharp and uncontrolled, Will arches up against Hannibal’s body, and asks, “Does that make me the lion, or the prey?”

“You are simply part of the pride,” Hannibal murmurs, biting against Will’s bottom lip.

Will lets himself groan at that, and tilts his chin up towards the sunshine filtering between the heavy, navy blue curtains.

He tugs Hannibal back down to him by the nape of the neck.

~

At first she had been unable to conceive what they could possibly talk about for so long.

Now, she knows. And, frighteningly enough, she can’t decide what’s better: knowing now, or not at all.

She watches the bright monitor silently, sitting alone in the dark of her office. The coffee and microwaved meal she ate as a late night snack still sit at the edge of her desk, colleagues long gone for the night. Only a skeleton crew remains for the night shift: two highly paid guards inside Hannibal and Will’s corridor, and two more for the remaining twenty residents.

Alana realizes just how much she underestimated the two as she watches them alone in their quarters tonight.

“I am imagining the hotel room in Marseille,” Hannibal murmurs, with a certain warmth in his voice that Alana hasn’t heard in years.

In his cage beside Hannibal, Will replies, “Remember how strong that headboard was? I’m pretty sure it was made out of iron.”

“Hmm,” Hannibal agrees, shifting slightly where he lays. “I didn’t get to see a lot of that particular piece of furniture; the blindfold you liked so much saw that I did not see much of anything.”

A slow, intimate smirk twists its way across Will’s face at the memory. He sounds pleased with himself as he replies, “You were easy to catch. I tied you by your wrists and let you lay there for hours. You didn’t know I left to visit the une épicerie.”

“I did not,” Hannibal rumbles, voice low at this new piece of information. He sounds entertained. “Now I believe that would be considered bad behavior, my darling boy.”

Will laughs, strong, low and sure. Alana’s fingers curl, manicured nails scraping against the wooden surface of her desk.

“When I came back you were begging for it,” He groans, shifting his shoulders back against the mattress. Alana watches this particular movement curiously; it is obvious he is hard, but he doesn’t touch himself. Instead, his fingers curl and then uncurl by his sides. “Your chest was flushed. You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

A low, pleased sound comes from Hannibal’s throat, before he replies, “I believe you removed the blindfold from my eyes simply to choke me with it. What did you like more, seeing me struggle beneath you, or the feeling of me inside you as you sunk down?”

“There are no winners in this game, Dr. Lecter,” Will chides, the way he says ‘Dr. Lecter’ sending chills up Alana’s spine. He groans softly at the memory, and adds, “My fingers were white and red from twisting the elastic so tight. I liked seeing you that way, laid out so that I could use you. And I used you.”

Hannibal makes a low murmur of agreement before he says, “This is the room I wish to use tonight.”

“But we didn’t make a reservation,” Will teases, and at that, Hannibal laughs.

~

While Alana drives home that night, hours later than she promised Margot, her thoughts are difficult to manage.

She can’t figure out what Hannibal and Will did, nor has she ever seen two people connect in that way, be it from trauma or love. As far as she could tell from observing them, they had one short, simple conversation, and then slid back into some kind of shared headspace that Alana wasn’t a part of.

And they barely said anything to one another, after that! She could only hear the quiet huff of heavy breathing, and soft, uncontained noises from Will every few moments.

Alana tried watching their faces for clues, but got only breadcrumbs in return.

Hannibal did nothing more than open his mouth exactly one time to gasp for breath; after that, Alana quickly realized Will was the one to watch. Even though his eyes remained closed, his face was openly racked in pleasure. Alana watched his eyebrows inch up his forehead, and then his mouth as it opened and closed, lips wet with spit. He would let his tongue relax, soft against the corner of his mouth, before groaning low in his throat and rocking his jaw from side to side.

It was, despite her best intentions, appealing.

Although neither of them moved much, it was obvious to Alana when they both reached climax. Hannibal choked on Will’s name, and the muscles in his forearms tightened - that part was familiar to Alana. It was new to see Will gasp, head driving back against the mattress as his fingers gripped at nothing.

She’s still thinking about it as she twists her key in the front door, and steps into the hall.

“You’re late,” Margot greets her, voice quiet in the cavernous room. She’s standing at the bottom of the dark wooden stairs, dressed in a silk nightgown and fuzzy slippers. The two articles of clothing are so wholly ridiculous when side by side that normally, Alana would laugh.

Instead, she drops her leather clutch against the entryway table, and shakes her head.

“You were right,” Alana mutters, already tugging off her earrings as she walks into the attached dining room, high heels clacking on the wood parquet floor. Verger money.

She tosses the expensive jewelry - a third wedding anniversary present from Margot, pearl and jade - into a crystal dish at the edge of the bar. Without waiting for Margot’s reply, Alana reaches for a bottle of whisky. She used to love beer, but not anymore.

“I was right about what, exactly?” Margot asks, voice hanging in the air as she comes to stand in the doorway. She leans her hip against the wooden frame and crosses both arms over her chest, watching Alana curiously.

When Margot suddenly realizes what Alana is talking about, her curious expression quickly fades into sadness.

“I shouldn’t have taken responsibility for them,” Alana gasps, throwing back a shot of booze. “They’re beyond my help.”

She doesn’t tell Margot anything else, including the display she watched earlier in the night. Maybe later, when Margot isn’t looking at her so sadly, but not tonight.

There’s enough on their shared plate already, without Alana adding Hannibal and Will back into the mix.

~

Alana lets it go on for another week before she can’t control her frustration anymore.

It’s the middle of the day, and they’re talking about having sex over breakfast on a vine covered balcony in Spain.

“Hannibal,” She shouts, the heavy metal doors slamming behind her sharply as she strides into their quarters.

Neither of them startle. In fact, she’s directly in front of Hannibal’s glass cage before he opens his eyes at all. When he does, he gently pushes himself up into a sitting position and criss-crosses his legs.

She can’t help but shoot a nervous gaze in Will’s direction as Hannibal looks at her. Will is still laying down on his mattress, but he’s pushed himself up onto his elbows so he can watch her. She can’t help the way a blush begins to spread up her neck and into her cheeks when she sees the way Will’s prison onesie is extra tight in the front, his erection barely contained beneath the light colored fabric.

“Alana,” Hannibal replies, tone easy. Since moving cells, Hannibal has been a fresh flower on a bright spring day.

Alana rests her hands on her hips and snaps, “What the two of you are doing is obscene.”

“That is the idea, yes,” Hannibal nods, letting one palm rest on each knee. “Would you prefer we do this in an alternate manner?”

She stares at him hard, gaze locked into his, and feels herself falter.

Alana doesn’t know why, out of all the shitty fucking things that Hannibal has done, this is what has inevitably sent her over the edge. She’s reading a file about a murder that took place in Morocco, it’s sitting on her desk right now.

The Chesapeake Ripper is all over it. It’s different than the murders in Baltimore, but she knows it’s them. It could be nobody else, and this time, there were six victims. For some reason, knowing he and Will are closer than she could ever conceivably be with anybody, enrages her more than those crime scene photos ever did.

“I would prefer you didn’t do it at all,” She replies. All three of them realize that she has lost her steam.

Hannibal’s mouth twitches at the corners, entertained. Will lets himself lay back against his mattress, bored.

“Now, Alana,” Hannibal replies, voice chiding. “You know I can’t promise that.”

~

Margot calls the same afternoon, two children fussing in the background as she asks Alana what time she will be home.

“I’m trying,” Alana breathes, not wanting to get into another argument. She tempers the coil of emotion she can already feel bubbling up in her stomach, and braces a palm against the flat top of her desk. Margot is on the speakerphone, voice sounding louder than anything else in the small confines of Alana’s office. “Margot if I give up, our family is at stake. You know that.”

It’s the lifeline that Alana has clung to for years. She’s never forgotten the promise Hannibal made her on Verger farm.

“That doesn’t matter to me anymore!” Margot snaps, as something clatters loudly in the background. Alana listens to the quiet click of a door closing as Margot moves into another room. “Do you really not see what he’s trying to do to you? What they’re both doing to you? Hannibal will get his way when he succeeds in pushing you over the edge.”

Alana stares at the framed photo on her desk. It’s a portrait of their family, two moms and two kids, and it sits crookedly at the edge of her desk.

“I can’t. I won’t let him win this time,” She replies, pressing one hand to her face.

Like anything is ever that easy.

~

Tonight they are in Monte Rosa, in Hannibal’s secluded chalet, tucked away into the edge of a mountain.

Will stands quietly at the vintage oven, boiling a kettle full of water for his coffee and Hannibal’s morning tea.

He’s reaching down to turn the element off when Hannibal appears behind him, wearing nothing but his sleep pants. They’re soft and dark blue, and look beautiful when Will’s fingers are lying against them. Hannibal steps in close, and presses the front of his lean body against Will’s warm back, from shoulder to half hard cock.

Will can feel Hannibal’s bare feet standing just outside of his own, bracketing him safely against the antique style wooden counter.

“Good morning,” Will murmurs, reaching one hand up to hold onto Hannibal’s forearm, crossed over the front of Will’s chest.

Hannibal presses his mouth against the shell of Will’s ear, and teases, “Bonjour, mon amour.”

Fingers curling around Hannibal’s forearm, Will uses his free hand to pour the hot water into their waiting mugs. Hannibal has been turning his nose up at Will’s instant coffee since they arrived in the Alps a month ago, but it tastes like normal coffee as far as Will is concerned.

He presses his body back into Hannibal’s front, and smiles at the stilted breath Hannibal gasps against his skin in return.

“We spent weeks in this chalet,” Hannibal murmurs fondly, pressing kisses down the side of Will’s neck. He mouths down Will’s shoulder gently, nosing at the fabric of Will’s undershirt. “So much time passed that I began to wait for you to bring home another stray.”

Laughing, Will leaves their drinks to cool on the counter, and turns around. When Hannibal does not immediately relax his grip to let Will turn, Will bows his head to bite gently at Hannibal’s arm.

“We should have stayed here,” Will breathes, when Hannibal relents. As Will turns, Hannibal slides both hands down the sides of Will’s body, and wraps them beneath Will’s thighs to hoist him up onto the counter top. Will rests his palms on Hannibal’s strong shoulders as they kiss, just lips on lips. When Hannibal leans back to rest his forehead against Will’s chin, Will adds, “They were still looking for us in Spain. We could have had an extra year, maybe even two. That’s a lot of dogs, Hannibal.”

Lips parting in a little smile, Hannibal looks into Will’s face, and then takes Will’s hand from where it rests atop his shoulder.

He kisses the skin over Will’s wrist first, and then the rougher skin on the inside of his palm. Will wrinkles his nose as Hannibal’s lips tickle the sensitive skin there, and then curls his fingers against Hannibal’s face. Undeterred, Hannibal simply turns Will’s hand over using both of his own, and presses a warm kiss to the back of it instead.

“We will not be in Baltimore for much longer, mon chou,” Hannibal murmurs, face relaxing in pleasure as Will moves his hand to rest on the back of Hannibal’s skull. Will smiles and pulls Hannibal’s head forward, testing how much Hannibal will give him this morning.

Hannibal allows his head to be tilted forward, and then to the side before he leans forward and kisses Will solidly. He slides his hand against the side of Will’s face, thumb along Will’s jawbone, and his fingers wrapped over Will’s cheek. Will moans softly, and brings his hand up to press against the back of Hannibal’s.

It’s a familiar movement, and one of his favorite things to do when he is sucking Hannibal’s cock. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can last on these memories,” Will admits suddenly, pulling away. His mouth is swollen from kissing, both in bed and here, and his glasses sit halfway down the bridge of his nose. Hannibal leans back in, and sucks on the stubbled curve of Will’s chin. Will runs his fingers through Hannibal’s hair and cradles him close. “I need to touch you again. With my hands, not just my mind.”

Hannibal’s mouth trails lower, moving from Will’s chin to his adam’s apple, and then back up to his mouth again.

Despite his fleeting thoughts, Will groans softly as Hannibal kisses him open mouthed, his fingers trailing down Will’s chest. When Hannibal reaches the bottom hem of Will’s undershirt, he slides his fingers beneath, and traces them up the flat muscle of Will’s bare stomach. His muscles contract at Hannibal’s soft touch.

“We will be together soon, in every way,” Hannibal murmurs, licking at Will’s upper lip. He pulls away gently to kiss Will’s forehead, and then his temple. One hand slides back out from underneath Will’s shirt to hold him gently by the nape of the neck as he adds softly, “Be patient with me, darling.”

Will nods gently, leaning forward against Hannibal’s bare chest. 

He rests his forehead against Hannibal’s pec and kisses his nipple, before turning his head properly to slide his wet tongue over it. Hannibal loves having his nipples touched. He shivers and bows his head to press his open mouth against the back of Will’s skull as he lets Will continue kissing over his chest. 

Will moves towards Hannibal’s armpit steadily. Honestly, Will never thought he would look at another man’s armpit in a sexual manner, but, here he is, sufficiently out of puberty and kissing the tender spot of skin that joins Hannibal’s arm to the rest of his body. 

He looks up into Hannibal’s face and bites a little, too, just to see what happens.

“I’ll follow where you lead,” Will promises against his skin.

At that, Hannibal bends down low to grab Will by the back of the head and kiss him again.

It’s rougher this time, and Will moans against Hannibal’s mouth as he lets Hannibal move to tug his underwear down over his hips. Soon his bare skin rests against the chilly kitchen counter top, and he curls his toes against Hannibal’s warm calves to compensate.

“My memories of this day,” Hannibal breathes, straightening to kiss Will and then pull his undershirt up over his head. “Are vivid. I believe I referred to you as my lumberjack, as you planned to retreat into the forest after breakfast to chop wood for the fire.”

Will laughs softly at that, the teasing tone in Hannibal’s voice apparent.

“I’m very good at chopping wood,” Will replies against Hannibal’s cheekbone.

Hannibal presses a line of open mouthed kisses down Will’s neck, and over the hollow of his throat, before he says, “I believe I offered you an alternative way to keep warm.”

“I think my answer to that was something along the lines of, ‘We can’t have sex all day, Hannibal.’,” Will murmurs, sliding off the edge of the counter to drop back down onto the floor. As an afterthought, he adds, “Though if memory serves, you proved me wrong.”

Their conversation is temporarily interrupted as Will’s fingers trail down to the flannel pants still hung at Hannibal’s hips.

Sighing, Hannibal runs his fingers through Will’s hair, and watches as Will sidetracks himself with sucking a wet kiss to the middle of Hannibal’s chest. 

Will seems to sense that Hannibal is watching him. 

He looks up, acting far too pure for someone almost on their knees, and Hannibal finds himself holding back a snarl as their gazes meet. It’s practically pornographic, the way that Will’s tongue laves at Hannibal’s chest before resting softly inside his own mouth.

Will bows his head, and noses against Hannibal’s chest hair as his hands resume loosening the tie that holds Hannibal’s sleep pants up around his hips.

Once the knot is undone, all it takes is a slight push at the waist before they drop to the floor entirely.

Hannibal stands nude in front of him, long legs stretching on forever, feet covered by the fine fabric of his sleep pants.

“We were standing right here when you came in me. You were fucking me so hard I couldn’t stand,” Will murmurs, his breath beginning to turn uneven as Hannibal grabs him by the face again and begins kissing him deeply, tongues touching. “I had to hold onto the counter,” A pause as Hannibal kisses him wetly, sloppily, on the mouth, “So you didn’t slam my head into the cabinet.”

And then Hannibal is panting, dazed and completely sex drunk as he stares at Will and says, “If I could take a photograph, Will…”

“You don’t need to,” Will murmurs, hand sliding down to wrap around Hannibal’s hard cock. He takes a step forward, closing his body over his own hand, warm and safe, and adds, “You taught me that we exist here, forever. Even when it’s hard, it’s better than any photograph. And it is _hard_.”

Hannibal swallows, and then his face twists in pleasure as Will begins to slide his hand up and down Hannibal’s cock, just softly enough to tug his foreskin up over the head.

It’s one of Will’s favorite things about Hannibal’s cock, besides the weight of it and how it feels in Will’s hands.

Will lets go just long enough to lick the expanse of his palm, and then roll it against the sensitive, bare head of Hannibal’s cock. He leans in, and presses his teeth against the curve of Hannibal’s jaw, and then moves around until he can bite at the soft skin that connects Hannibal’s chin to his throat.

“Fuck me, Hannibal,” Will says, jerking Hannibal off steadily.

Hannibal growls and begins walking them both backwards, towards the attached sitting area. There isn’t much to it, as a formal area it only has a sofa and two arm chairs, but that hardly matters. Give Hannibal two matchsticks and he’d figure out how to fuck on them.

As Hannibal walks them to one of the arm chairs, Will tugs back his foreskin a little bit more, and slides his thumb over the soft curve of Hannibal’s cock head. It makes Hannibal growl and kiss sloppily, tongue sliding out of his mouth and against the corner of Will’s lips instead of inside them.

It’s addicting, to possess Hannibal in this manner. Hannibal reaches down and wraps his hand around Will’s fingers. He tightens his grip around Will’s hand and fucks into their combined grip a few times before he twists his fingers into Will’s, and pulls both of their hands away.

“Turn around,” Hannibal says, kissing Will’s body as they move: his shoulder, his back, the nape of his neck, his skull.

Once Will has turned to face the side of the arm chair, Hannibal sinks to his knees. He keeps one hand loosely wrapped around his own cock as he shoulders Will’s thighs further apart, and then reaches up to press his palm against Will’s lower back. Will moves with the pressure Hannibal applies, and leans forward over the arm of the chair.

He can’t help how heavy his breathing is as he tries to steady himself against the cushions.

If only Freddie Lounds could see them now, he muses.

“Hannibal,” Will chokes, squeezing the chair cushion as Hannibal bites at his ass cheeks; down one, and up the other. He mouths at the soft skin that covers Will’s tailbone, and then tongues over the spot where Will’s ass cheeks meet the very tops of the backs of his thighs. Will widens his stance and whines, “Hannibal, please.”

When Hannibal does not immediately move at the request, Will reaches backwards and grabs Hannibal by the hair at the back of his head with one hand. Hannibal loves it when Will physically forces his mouth against his ass.

It sparks something more inside Will when Hannibal buries his nose into the soft skin just below Will’s tailbone with a pleased groan.

He drags his wet mouth down, until Will’s grip loosens and he echoes Hannibal’s groan instead. It doesn’t take very long for Will to lose himself, the soft keening noises that come from his mouth betraying him as Hannibal slides his tongue against Will’s hole once, and then pulls back. He pulls Will apart, and enjoys the way the delicate skin looks glistening with spit before he leans back in and licks again.

Hannibal has always enjoyed things by taste and smell, and Will is no different. He groans as he presses his face in further, one hand holding Will open as the other squeezes his own cock. He doesn’t jerk himself off, but he does enjoy the pulse of his own fingers squeezing and then releasing. Every time he buries his face deep in Will’s ass, he slides his hand down to grip around the base, just in case.

Will is panting and swearing, socked feet sliding further and further away from one another on the hardwood floor.

It’s far more beautiful than any painting or mural Hannibal has ever seen before.

Unable to hold back any longer, Hannibal uses his tongue to push as much spit into Will as he can before he crawls back up Will’s body. He twists Will’s head to the side with one hand on his chin and kisses him wolfishly, spit now over both of their faces as Hannibal butts the head of his cock against Will’s tailbone and steps in close.

“Please Hannibal,” Will pants, reaching backwards.

He knocks Hannibal’s hand away and grips Hannibal in his own hand instead, breathing heavily as he jacks Hannibal off, enjoying the way that Hannibal’s cock is hard and heavy and warm in his hand. When Will can’t wait any longer, he leads Hannibal close by the cock, and presses it against himself.

Hannibal growls. He loves the feeling that claws at the insides of his stomach when Will marks himself by rubbing Hannibal’s cock all over various parts of his body. He tugs Will backwards by the hips, and holds his ass apart as he bows his head and rests it between Will’s shoulder blades. It isn’t refined, but he spits against Will’s backside and his own cock before he grips it and begins to press against Will’s body.

This is Will’s favorite part, and he loves to let Hannibal know it. He always gasps and groans and rolls his hips to feel every single inch. No matter how many times they have done this together, he still reacts in the same way; as though he is desperate for it, and falling apart without it.

“Will,” Hannibal pants, voice soft and broken as he feels himself pop through and then slide in.

Will gasps against the backs of his wrists, and cants his hips up higher, groaning as he feels Hannibal slide in deeper. Hannibal’s breathing pattern becomes short. He slides his palm up Will’s sweat sticky back, and hooks his fingers around the curve of Will’s shoulder to pull him back. It effectively drops more of Will’s weight onto Hannibal’s cock.

“Fuck me,” Will gasps, tilting his hips again, and moving with Hannibal’s body until Hannibal is completely inside him.

When Hannibal pauses to pull himself together, Will twists around and reaches over Hannibal’s shoulder to grab him by the hair. His grip is tight as Hannibal swears under his breath, and wraps an arm firmly around Will’s middle.

Hannibal pumps into him a handful of times before he begins to lose control, so overwhelmed that all he can do is press his face into the side of Will’s neck and rock his hips against Will’s ass. Will takes over, using the leverage he has from holding onto Hannibal’s skull to work himself back on Hannibal’s cock. He is short of breath and gasping for it the whole time.

The closer Hannibal begins to edge towards orgasm, the fewer synapses begin to work in his brain. All he can do is unevenly pump his cock into Will’s ass, and roll his tongue against whatever skin he can reach.

“Fuck, Hannibal,” Will begs, as Hannibal begins to softly babble words into the back of his head.

It’s nonsense, just a handful of words in eight different languages interspersed with Will’s name, but Will finds himself reacting to it regardless. He twists his fingers alongside Hannibal’s in a steady grip and brings their joined hands up to his mouth to bite, desperately trying to keep in the keening noises that he otherwise can’t control.

When Hannibal feels Will beginning to lose it, he lets go of Will’s hand and reaches around Will’s hip to jerk him off instead, gasping against the back of Will’s sweaty head as he does.

It doesn’t take very long for Will to come, with Hannibal relentlessly thumping against his prostate and the tight grip that Hannibal has around his cock. Will makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and closes his eyes as he comes, jaw working from side to side as he absorbs the feeling that radiates throughout his body.

He curls himself over the arm of the couch as his muscles tighten and release without his consent.

With Will finished off, Hannibal grips onto both of his hips and begins to fuck relentlessly. Will, oversensitive and unable to touch himself because of it, pushes back against Hannibal and rolls his muscles from the inside. He tightens and releases them in a counter rhythm to Hannibal’s thrusts.

“Fuck me hard, Hannibal, fill me up,” Will pants, reaching between his legs to feel where Hannibal is sliding in and out of him.

As he slides his hand back out from between his thighs, he gasps as Hannibal begins to pound him particularly hard, and slides his hand over his lower stomach. As Will rubs his own come into his skin, he imagines he can feel Hannibal’s cock through his lower abdomen, pounding away at his insides.

Hannibal pulls his body back, changing the angle, and yanks Will’s arm around their shoulders so they can kiss. Will makes a soft noise in the back of his throat as Hannibal kisses him sloppily, tongue catching the outside of Will’s bottom lip before sliding into the warmth of his mouth.

When Hannibal comes, he presses his face into Will’s armpit and shakes all over, muscles trembling as he pumps into Will’s ass with absolutely no rhythm, just the drive to fill him up. Will tightens his grip around Hannibal’s shoulders, and holds him against his side as they both try and catch their breath.

“I love you,” Will whispers automatically, as he raises his free hand to grip Hannibal by the chin.

He pulls Hannibal’s mouth towards his and kisses him deeply, tasting himself on Hannibal’s tongue. Hannibal makes a soft sound and then pulls away, mouthing at Will’s lips before he wipes his sweaty bangs and forehead off on Will’s bare shoulder.

When Hannibal pulls out, he can’t help himself from pressing the pad of his thumb back in against Will’s hole. Will makes a noise as he feels Hannibal’s thumb press gently inside him, dragging through his own come. He rubs it into Will’s insides as he presses kisses up and down the side of Will’s neck; Will revels in how dirty and worshipped Hannibal makes him feel.

“I’m not ready to open my eyes yet,” Will murmurs, turning slightly to kiss Hannibal’s face again.

Licking his lips, Hannibal kisses Will’s mouth and whispers, “Then do not open your eyes.”

~

Alana frowns and chews her thumbnail as she stares at the monitor.

She truly doesn’t understand how they can maintain the level of intimacy they do without touch. Whatever they just did, it was intense, and it’s obvious in the flush of Will’s neck and the way that Hannibal rests a protective hand over his own cock through his prison onesie.

What are they doing? Would they entertain her, and answer her questions if she asked?

Flipping back a page in her notebook, she re-reads her notes from the previous day.

 _It’s mutual masturbation_ she realizes suddenly, grimacing to herself. She can’t believe she’s devoted so this much of her time - both personal and professional - to Hannibal’s sex life. Beyond that it’s more than she ever wanted to know, especially with the scant few memories she still has of her short time in Hannibal’s bed.

Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised - Will seems to be the exception, and not the rule.

Still, she can’t comprehend how they have both been achieving orgasm regularly without physical stimulation. At most, she has caught them rubbing themselves through their prison onesies. For men their age, that should hardly be enough to reach climax. 

Alana remembers sitting on her knees for much longer than what was comfortable, one hand wrapped around Hannibal tightly as she slid it up and down, damning his stamina.

But was it stamina, or was it a lack of longing?

Alana closes her notebook with a snap, and stands up. She switches off her desk lamp and gathers her belongings before she leaves for the night, not much earlier than the time she went home the night before.

~

The next day, Alana drags a steel chair across the floor and takes a seat in front of their cages.

Calmly, she folds one leg over the other, and then crosses both hands over her knee. She will stay cool.

Hannibal is already looking at her interestedly, in the way a dog studies a bone. She can feel him eyeing her pant suit, how it hangs perfectly from every joint and curve. Margot bought her this outfit for no reason; one day, Alana simply returned home to find a lovely grey box, addressed to her at the foot of their bed.

That was a long time ago now, before all of this. Before either of them even thought of their daughter.

“Alana,” Hannibal greets joyously, speaking first. Her eyes dart to the side, to Will, who is further back - away from the light.

The shadows drape over Will’s face like the expensive, soft fabric drapes over Alana’s wrists.

She wonders if Hannibal ever bought gifts for Will in the same way Margot once did for her; she wonders if their shared confinement here is some form of present from one man to the other. If it is, she doesn’t want to think about what that makes her. Alana may be on the safe side of the glass, but that makes her no less hunted than anyone else.

“How are you doing, Hannibal?” She asks, keeping her voice in that careful, practiced lilt. Cheery, but not overly so.

He smiles at her though, a toothy thing that makes his cheekbones even more pronounced, and watches her amusedly.

“I am very well, Alana, thank you,” He replies, still courteous above all things. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

 _We._ Alana’s gaze cuts to Will once more. He has not yet moved, still stored safely in the shadows of his cage. He simply stares, looking through her as though she is not even here.

Even though Will ignores her, Alana can still feel the way his eyes track her movements when she isn’t looking.

Watching, waiting. Leaving it up to Hannibal, for now and only now.

“I just wanted to chat,” She says. It isn’t a lie; she’d like to have a conversation with either of them. She’d like for Hannibal to answer the page of questions she has prepared, though she already knows he will not. “We haven’t had a chance to sit down like this since I resumed your therapy.”

Hannibal’s lips press up into another entertained smile.

He nods, and makes a small ‘ah’ sound before replying, “Well, I am here for the picking. Do you wish to pluck me, Alana?”

Alana’s friendly demeanor falters. She can feel her expression tremble beneath the sudden weight it takes to maintain it.

“Of course not, Hannibal,” She replies, instead of slamming her fists against the bulletproof, unbreakable glass at the way he regards her interest as something that can be squished. “I’d like to have a conversation with you about your time here. From one professional to another.”

For the first time Will laughs, an unhinged, rough sound that comes from the back of his throat.

Alana reflexively turns her gaze away from Hannibal, though she can’t help but let it continue to flicker between the two of them. It feels as though the moment she allows her sight to stray, the other will corner her without mercy.

“Are you?” Will asks, eyebrows drawn as he moves closer to the glass for the first time. “Professional?”

His voice is dripping with insincerity. Alana clears her throat and replies, “We are all aware of the complicated relationships we share with one another, Will. Nobody is denying that.”

“Are they complicated?” Will continues, now standing close to the glass. She can see the color of his eyes for the first time in a long time, and they are bright. He is the bird in the cage that watches the cat play with the caught mouse on the ground. Arching one eyebrow, Will asks, “Did you enjoy the short time that you spent in Dr. Lecter’s bed, Alana? Were they particularly _long_ nights?”

Alana’s mouth dries out. She doesn’t know why Will is choosing to take this angle, but it makes her sufficiently uncomfortable.

“The personal relationship I shared with Dr. Lecter is firmly in the past, Will,” Alana replies, raising her chin a bit. She immediately regrets it; she senses the way that Hannibal begins to sniff her out from his own cage. “You, better than anyone else, should know that. I have Margot.”

Will laughs at that, sounding genuinely entertained.

When Alana flicks her gaze back to Hannibal, he looks amused, practically drowning in his affection for Will as he watches him through the thin glass that separates them.

“Ah yes, Margot. Dear, dear Margot,” Will teases, dragging his voice out. Alana makes the mistake of meeting his eyes and he grins, wolfishly. “How is your marriage to Margot, Alana? Has it held up?”

She swallows, fingers flexing against her knee, and then closes her eyes. She has to shut him out before she replies, “My relationship with Margot is of a personal nature, Will. It doesn’t belong in this room.”

“Well, I remember her,” Will nods, smiling. To rub the salt in Alana’s wounds, he adds, “The warmth of her. Do you feel her warmth often, Alana?”

Hannibal looks positively beside himself. He beams, and turns back to Alana to await her response.

“Tell me about your relationship with Hannibal,” Alana counters, tilting her head to one side. If Will wants to play these games, she will let him. She will let herself get lost in the grinding gears of his empathy. “Does it fulfill you?”

Will laughs loudly, like he can’t believe Alana has given him this particular opening.

“Hannibal _fulfills_ me, Dr. Bloom,” He replies, ripe with implication. “I am regularly awarded eight substantial inches of fulfillment.”

Jaw tightening, Alana lets his response slide off of her, and asks in return, “How have you coped with the lack of intimacy since you and Hannibal have been separated? The glass between you does not seem particularly warm.”

“I have coped knowing that every night, you sit in your office in the dark,” Will replies easily, expression twitching. He looks at Alana as though she is less than; his empathy has suddenly turned into a weapon. “Is it cold, sitting in front of your computer alone? Do you find comfort when you watch? Do you fulfill yourself, knowing that the bed you have at home can no longer sufficiently touch that warm spot inside of you?”

Alana presses her lips together, trembling. Will has knowingly touched the most bruised spot on her heart.

“Will,” She warns, blinking back sudden tears. His smirk deepens as she tries again, “ _Mr. Graham_.”

Smiling, Will tilts his head back and replies, “Your sudden need for formality is embarrassing, Alana. We are all aware that we have been inside one another in a handful of different ways over the years. Does your wife still taste as sweet as I remember?”

“Enough!” Alana snaps, raising her voice as she staggers to her feet. The metal chair legs scrape against the floor loudly, echoing throughout the otherwise silent room.

Will does not continue. His lips twitch at the corners, entertained by the way he has broken her so easily, and he offers a small shrug before moving away from the glass. Alana sees him catch Hannibal’s gaze as he turns her back on her, unafraid.

Hannibal couldn’t look more in love with him if there were tiny pink hearts floating out of his eyes.

“This is over,” Alana announces to no one, unsure if she is talking to herself or to them.

As she storms out of their corridor, she can’t help the tears that continue to gather in the corners of her eyes.

She will tear Hannibal and Will apart in the only way that she knows how.

~

She is the one who makes the final decision to have them separated again.

Alana sits in her office alone as they are taken from one another the next morning. Her gaze is unfocused, trained on absolutely nothing as she listens to the distant crashing of thrown objects. Someone screams, but is quickly silenced. 

When Alana looks at her monitor for the last time, she feels absolutely nothing at the sight of Hannibal being tasered to the ground.

Even though Will was transported first, and should now be in his own cell, he rushes back into the corridor in the same moment that Hannibal hits the cold cement floor.

Hannibal lays incapacitated, simply a monument of seizing muscle and freshly abused skin. It’s no surprise when Will takes the guard that tasered Hannibal to the ground in two motions. Although the camera isn’t good enough to capture the details of what he did, it’s clear to see that the guard is alive one moment and dead the next.

As Hannibal begins to move again, curled in on one side against the floor, Will reaches him despite the impending arrival of more guards. He drops to his knees beside Hannibal’s body, and doesn’t look up as two more guards arrive at the main doors.

Alana turns away from the screen as they contain Will. They were her orders: she knows he is taken down only because of the syringe of medicine that is violently injected into his shoulder blade.

She closes her eyes and rests her face in her hands; she knows she has lost control.

Today, she is responsible for the deaths of four more people. It will not end there.

~

Hannibal and Will remain in two cages, completely separated from one another, for five days.

Alana doesn’t know what happened and can’t bring herself to read the report she is provided. On Saturday, they disappear. As simple as that, as though they are going grocery shopping. In the wake of three more bloodied bodies, one missing a chunk of flesh at the base of his throat, they are gone.

She is alerted by phone at three o’clock in the morning, an hour after it happens. Out of necessity more than anything else, she calls Jack afterwards to let him know that they are once again free men. Alana doesn’t think that they will go after Jack, but he deserves to know that they are no longer on a leash regardless.

Margot sits behind her on their bed, silent and still in the dark twilight of the night. 

When she gets up to go to their son’s bedroom, Alana does not stop her.

~

Despite the ensuing manhunt that spans Baltimore over the course of several weeks, Hannibal and Will are not caught.

Alana wasn’t expecting them to be, but she knows that others still had hope.

She attends a string of funerals for each guard that died because of her rash decision, and then she resigns. Nobody gives her a goodbye card; she packs her office up quietly, efficiently. Carefully.

Everything fits into one box that she sets on the front seat of her car.

At home, Margot packs up their family and their belongings. Even though they’ve done it before, it’s hard to fit a shared lifetime into a few boxes and suitcases. The house is not packed up as easily as Alana’s office; they have a lot more than what will fit into one box, but they throw away what they can, and keep the things that cannot be replaced. They will run again.

They will run, the same way that Will and Hannibal will run.

Alana will pick up and move every year, leaving nothing behind, if that’s what it takes.

When you love someone, she realizes now, you will follow them no matter where the trail leads.

Dark, or light.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and visit me [on tumblr](http://bonedaddies.tumblr.com)! I'm always accepting prompts, headcanons, and asks.
> 
> Also, I really appreciate any comments or kudos. I'd love to know what you think.


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